


I don't want better - I want you

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Steter Week 2020 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Back Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25598041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: When Stiles texted Peter and told him they should try again, he was a little drunk and really didn't expect Peter would have kind of a panic reaction that would make him run away to some little hut in the middle of nowhere.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Steter Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855330
Comments: 10
Kudos: 228
Collections: Steter Week 2020





	I don't want better - I want you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Steter Week 2020 Day Three (Visual Prompt)

Stiles expected to find Peter somewhere busy. Somewhere, where he could easily find a new pack or blend in. He expected to find Peter in a fancy bar or a pulsing club, sitting on barstool like it was his throne. 

He imagined so many scenarios. Some made him sad and angry, some made him laugh to himself, and some scared him. Because there were some scenarios, that pictured Peter’s death at the hands of some hunter. They were among the more unlikely ones, but that didn’t make them less scarier. Stiles thought that Peter shouldn’t die before he told Stiles what the hell he was thinking when he turned his back on Beacon Hills and disappeared into the literal nothing. Without a word.

What Stiles didn’t expect at all, was to find Peter in the middle of nowhere. And yet, this was the scenario that turned out to be the truth. 

Stiles’ anger turns into disbelief and confusion when the trail leads him through endless snowy forests, ending at a huge lake with crystal clear water reflecting the little hut standing between high fir trees. It looks cozy. Red brick stones and wood, a roof covered in smooth snow. Smoke is softly floating up from the chimney. Mountains stretch out in close distance. 

Peter is sitting on the porch, idly painting on a canvas. 

Stiles watches him from afar for a while, just because he doesn’t want to destroy this picture. It’s so strangely peaceful. He almost forgets he’s pissed at Peter. Almost. But not completely. He’s too hurt for that. He can still feel everything. From the stupid text message to the moment he found Peter’s apartment empty. 

_I want to try again_. _Let’s try again._ The words were too bright in the dim light of his little flat. He typed that message when he was a little drunk. But he meant it. Had thought about it all day. 

It took Peter a while to answer. A long while. That never happened. Peter always answered like he had the words prepared even before he saw what Stiles’ wrote. But this time, Stiles stared at the little wolf picture on his screen - he chose the dumbest pic of a wolf he could find on the internet, eyes rolling and tongue lolling - for what felt like forever, while Peter was apparently typing. And typing. And typing … 

But when his answer came, it was only: _We’ll talk when you’re back._

Stiles was disappointed. It burned. He wrote _okay,_ deleted the _idiot_ he first wanted to add and then threw his phone away. It hit the wall beside his bed with a slightly too loud crunch, but he didn’t care. He rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling, feeling lonely. 

He can feel the echo of that loneliness now, now that he’s standing in the snow, his shoes slowly getting too wet to keep the cold out.

He suspects that Peter has noticed him by now, but is waiting for dramatic flair like usually. Well. Peter should better prepare himself, Stiles thinks grimly. This is going to be very dramatic.

There is a huge black dog laying beside Peter, its heavy head resting on its paws. It glances up at Stiles with only one yellow eye open, the other one is milky and crossed by a long scar. The bushy tail wags slowly, once, twice, before going still. The dog is old, Stiles realizes. Very old. There are a lot of grey streaks in the dark fur. 

“How long are you going to stand there and stare?” Peter asks, glancing up from the canvas. 

Stiles shrugs. He crosses the distance and takes a look at what Peter’s painting. He has to keep his jaw from dropping. There’s a perfect portrayal of the surroundings on the canvas. It could be a postcard in a shop. 

“I didn’t know you can paint. This is really good. Another thing you’re disgustingly amazing at,” Stiles murmurs and snuffles.  
  
Peter smiles slowly. “Thank you.”

There’s an awkward silence between them. Stiles shivers slightly. 

Peter gets up, laying his brush aside carefully. He has blue splotches on his hands. “You’re cold,” he states.   
  
Stiles makes a vague gesture with his hand. “I’m fine.” 

Peter shakes his head. He gets up to fetch a really fuzzy looking red blanket from the couch - of course Peter has a couch on his porch - and throws it at Stiles. He catches it and wraps it around himself relieved. 

Peter doesn’t ask Stiles how he found him. He knows Stiles too well for that. Instead, he asks, “What are you doing here? Is something wrong in Beacon Hills?” 

And just like that, the anger is back. “Nah. It’s all fine over there. Everything's super. I just kind of missed you. Went to your apartment when I came back, even had the fancy chocolate you like with me. You didn’t open, so I picked the lock. I immediately knew you were gone. No one told me. No one mentioned it. But well. I ate the chocolate.” Stiles shrugs. He’s aware he sounds like a pouting child. He doesn’t care. He’s still angry. “You’re an asshole, you know,” he says and glares. 

Peter sighs. “Stiles …” He draws the name out and avoids Stiles’ eyes and now he’s getting even angrier, feeling it warming him up from the inside. 

“Stiles what?” He snaps, holding on to the blanket too tightly. “Don’t _Stiles_ me! I told you I want to try again and you said we would talk. And when I come back to have that stupid talk, you’re gone. I’m really tired of that shit. Like, I get why we stopped dating, right? I could understand why we should wait until I was done with High School and old enough, so Derek wouldn’t slash your throat again or my father would ask Argent for some wolfsbane bullets. It was boring but I got it. But everything after?! Everything after was just bullshit! Suddenly, it’s also about me going to college and me being able to enjoy a “normal” student life. I do that, get fed up with it and come back, only to find out you just left! You just left and told no one where you are going. You ran again. You ran from me!” He stops, breathing heavily and feeling surprised about that outburst. 

Peter stares at him for a long moment. Eventually, his shoulders sag and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. I get that you’re angry. I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry. Look. I needed to leave, Stiles. I had enough of that life. I had enough of waiting in my apartment in Beacon Hills until someone would very timidly and reluctantly knock at my door, telling me they needed a book or my help in fighting the new monster of the week. I had enough of being forced to attend pack meetings, although no one wanted me there. With you gone, there really was no reason to play-act anymore."

Peter stops and Stiles knows exactly that this is not the whole story. It never is. There is always something else, something that goes deeper and that costs Peter strenght to utter it. So he waits. And gets the deeper reason a moment laster, faster than he has anticipated.

"And … Yes I ran. But I didn’t run from you, Stiles. I ran from me. Look, I panicked, okay? I didn’t think you really would want to try again after all that time. When I got your text, I was surprised and then I was happy. For a moment. Before I remembered that I’m …” He stops again and looks at Stiles with that expression of desperation that makes Stiles’ throat feel tighter. “You deserve better, Stiles,” Peter says softly and it’s too much.  
  
“I don’t know if I’m supposed to kill or hug you,” Stiles groans and throws his hands up in air, almost losing the blanket. “Jesus! What the hell do I have to do to prove to you, that I don’t want “better”. I want you. We had this talk already! Many, many times. In many different situations. Yes, I know you’re a big bad wolf, I know about the bodies, I know about the thoughts and the voices in your head. And I don’t fucking care. Now, where’s my hot chocolate? I’m going to need a lot of it.” 

Peter’s lips twitch. He still looks doubtful and cautious, but he goes inside and prepares proper hot chocolate with whipped cream, so Stiles thinks they’re on a good way. His anger has already waned off a lot by now. He gets it. He gets Peter not wanting to linger in Beacon Hills anymore. He gets that Peter needed a change. He also gets the fear. He has felt it himself. The fear of not being good enough, of being too damaged and too broken for good things. It takes a lot of screaming at oneself to get that out of the mind. However, not being alone with it usually makes things better.

“Who’s that dog, by the way?” Stiles asks when Peter returns with the hot chocolate. 

“That’s Hades. I met him in the woods. He was starving, so I took him here,” Peter explains and Hades huffs when he hears his name, wagging his tail tiredly. 

“So you’re someone’s Alpha again now?” Stiles grins. "And _Hades_? Seriously?"

Peter just arches his brows. He watches Stiles sipping his hot chocolate and moaning in delight, and sighs. “They will kill me. Your father, Derek, or maybe Scott. Someone will kill me for this,” he says dryly. “But … I can’t deny it. I want to try again too. Wanted to for quite a while. It was … good.”  
  
Stiles hums and licks the chocolate from his lips. “Then stop running away from good things. And I won’t let them kill you. Have you ever seen me with a bat? They stand no chance.” He grins. 

Peter chuckles. The noise is nice. It makes Stiles feel warmer. He reaches out to carefully brush his fingers against Peter’s hand and the touch is almost electric. Peter looks at him and his eyes are just a hint too blue. 

Stiles looks at the lake and the mountains. At the crystal sky above them. “We could stay here. Not forever, but … for a while. It’s so ridiculously beautiful.” And heavenly silent. 

“It’s even more beautiful at night. Wait, until you see the stars,” Peter says. He hesitates, and then takes Stiles’ hand in his, squeezing it gently. “I have painted the night sky."

Stiles snorts. Of course. On top of all the other amazing things, Peter, that bastard, can also see perfectly at night. So unfair. “Will you paint me too? Naked?” He asks and winks. 

Peter grins. “You really want to be naked out here now?” 

Stiles shivers only at the thought. “Ugh. No. Fine, save that for summer. But you can still paint me like this, right?”  
  
Peter nods, his eyes wandering over Stiles’ face as if he’s already thinking about what color he’s going to use. “Right. But you’ll have to sit still for me, for a very long time.”  
  
Stiles groans but laughs. “The things I’m doing for love.” 

Peter’s breath hitches. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, apparently it is now one of my ships, lol. Another fic that desperately wanted to be written and another is in progress ^^'
> 
> ~ I always love to hear what you are thinking about the story! ❤
> 
> Say hi on [Tumblr](https://for-the-love-of-wolves.tumblr.com/)  
> :)


End file.
